Where it began (running)

I started running in 2010, but my love for running began in 2014. In 2013, I had already ran about 30 or 35 5k races, mostly on trails. A friend and I decided to step outside of our comfort zone, and we registered for a local 15k trail race. It just happened to weave up and around the local ski slope. The race felt like hell, but I enjoyed it. Something about running through the fall foliage, feeling the crisp mountain air, and splashing in the mud of the creeks just felt right. My legs and my lungs may have been on fire, but experiencing the beautiful environment around me distracted me from the discomfort.

I caught the running bug.

After the race, I desired that exhilarating feeling again. We went on several trail runs, but they never quite felt the same. Perhaps it was the nerves leading up to the race and the atmosphere of having fellow runners around that I enjoyed. Perhaps it was unknowing whether or not I could even finish the race. Whatever it was, it led us to join a relay marathon. I would run the first two legs (15.4 miles) and he would finish the last two legs (10.9 miles) in the “Grand Canyon of the East”.

It was this race that I learned the true pain of running, but more importantly the intoxicating feeling of overcoming these struggles.

As a young adult or a grown child, I obviously bit off more than I could chew. Jumping from 3 mile races, to a 9 mile race, then a 15 mile race, all within 8 months is definitely doable. However, I would definitely recommend reaching the mileage before the race. With that being said, I obviously did not.

First mistake: I trained for the race primarily on the country roads that weaved around my town. Trail races require a higher degree of technical running, as the single-track trails have several small turns, obstacles likes roots and rocks, and quickly changing elevations. This all requires a higher degree of stability in the hips, knees, and ankles, and the road running did not replicate the the demands of the race for my muscles.

Second mistake: I only trained up to 12 miles for the 15.4 mile race. It’s a good idea to train up to the mileage of the race (assuming you’re running something smaller than a marathon). This is because there are a lot of little challenges to be solved that a runner should be aware of. The difference between a 12 mile road run and a 15 mile trail run was about 90 minutes of work, 1000-1900 calories**, and a load of electrolytes that need to be replenished. Primarily, I did not know how often I needed to refuel my body and the rate of electrolyte replenishment. This caused me to become extremely dehydrated despite being bloated with fluids.

Third mistake: I only ran in good weather. If I was planning on running three days a week, and it was raining the day of my run, I would defer it until the next day. Obviously the race isn’t going to wait just because of mildly inconvenient weather. However, the race day was perfect in terms of weather! But the few days beforehand were not. It poured for three days prior to the trail race, and the ground was completely saturated with water. The average height of mud on the course was about ankle high. Leading to the aid stations, the slopes were nightmarish, with calf-high mud, and thigh-high water (okay… I am short so maybe it wasn’t as impressive for the average person, but still today, in 2019, it is still regarded as the muddiest race in their 10 year history).

The result: The race went well through the first 10 miles. The rolling hills were beautiful. The air smelled like mud, budding trees, and blooming flowers. The views of the raging waterfalls were spectacular. But by mile 12, I was entering Hell. The end felt out of reach, as my legs felt like 20 pound weights had been added (probably because I actually had a few pounds of mud on my legs, and the mud suctioned my feet to the ground). But I had to finish my leg of the race; I had to finish so my partner could start his race. When mile 13 came, my entire lower body ached and burned. By mile 14, everything was cramping from the arch of my foot all the way up to the base of my head. I was collapsing into each step, as I dragged my body forward. Everything was telling me to stop, as I had half an hour before the cut off time, and with about another mile until the checkpoint, but my body wasn’t working. So I stopped. I stood there by a tree, as I depleted the remains of my water reservoir with my last gel pack. All while runners passed me, giving words of support. “Just one hill left.” “We’re almost to the checkpoint.” “We got this.” Frankly, I didn’t believe what they were saying, but I began to walk, as I had no other option. I took 10 steps at a time, as I slowly crept forward. I took 10 more steps, as that’s all it takes to build up the momentum again. 20 more steps, and I round the corner. In front of me stood the last muddy climb. I took 30 more steps, while thinking about my finish line. I was running again. Once the top of the hill was visible, my heart began to race. The cowbells at the line were ringing. A crowd was still cheering for us. I saw my friends, and they ran to the line as I finished.

“What the Hell happened?”

“I died. Everything cramped and I couldn’t walk.”

“Well, you made it; you finished.”

Although finishing the race was one of my greatest accomplishments, I was more proud that I overcame the voice in my head, as that voice screamed to stop. During the race, I ignored the voice that told me that I couldn’t do it. Like many nuisances, that voice slowly quieted when I ignored it; that voice eventually stopped, as I knew I could finish this race.

That day, I barely finished the race. It wasn’t the end of my journey but rather the start of my love. I told myself that eventually I’ll run the entire Sehgahunda Trail Marathon.